Gossip
by J.Rease
Summary: Jacob Ben-Israel wasn't always like this.  All he ever wanted was a chance with Rachel Berry.  No one knew his infatuation would spiral out of control.  Pezberry Hurt/Comfort.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Gossip

Author

Rating: NC-17/M

Warnings: Rape, the aftermath. Graphic at times, you have been warned!

Summary: No one expected that a kid like Jacob Ben-Israel would ever take his infatuation for Rachel Berry that far. No one expected his crush would manifest a monster.

Chapter One:

She didn't know how she got there, struggling underneath Jacob Ben-Israel, pleading with him to move his arm from her collarbone before he broke it. He'd gotten her panties mid-thigh before he pushed her skirt up, trying his best to avoid her flailing legs as she kicked at him. His arm moved to her neck, slightly depriving her of air. She stopped struggling, realizing that the more she moved, the sooner she'd be unconscious. She could feel his skin pressing against hers, the buckle from his belt dragging angry scars against her inner thigh. He was kissing her mouth, the taste of his rancid breath etching nightmarish memories into her taste buds. He was trying unsuccessfully to open her legs, slapping her swiftly across the cheek. At the realization of her vulnerability he sprinted, spreading her wide beneath the girth of his body—her underwear finally snapping from the friction and he settled between her legs. She didn't know what to do. Her back had been burning since he pushed her into one of the stacks, blood pooling at the back of her destroyed shirt from the shifty nail that darted from the structure. Her arms were already tired, bruised from their earlier confrontation near the door, when she tried to get out of the audiovisual room, hoping that he'd left the key in the keyhole. Her voice was raw from screaming, half crying when she knew that no one would be coming for her, that the audiovisual room was in the basement. Anyone left in the school would be nowhere near them, and she didn't have the voice left in her to scream.

He was fumbling with the remaining fabric of her underwear, sweating profusely into her face. He eased the hand from her collarbone and hovered above her, angry with anticipation. She reached up, dragging her fingernails across the chub of his cheeks. He slammed her down again, resting all of his weight on top of her. She felt the bulbous head of his penis pressing against her, his hands holding her hips still as he thrust forward. Missing his intended target he reached between them, lining himself with her opening before ripping into her with a deafening intensity. She yelled out, the silent scream raking her body like a sob, air replacing sound as quiet tears fell down the sides of her face. He ravished her, pumping furiously hard into her non-responsive body. He was lifting her legs up next, sliding out of her bloodied heat and shoving his erect, wide girthed penis back inside her. His glasses had tumbled to the floor, and he put his hand on her intimate nub and rubbed, spreading the blood at their union onto his rough fingertips before returning to her now burning clitoris.

She was whimpering. The pain she was currently enduring breaking her to pieces as he continued his assault. She was hoping it would be short, that he would get it over with and roll from atop her, but he was lasting far longer than she could have anticipated in the split second it took for her to figure out what was about to happen. He was pounding into her so ferociously now, the impact of his thrusts moved her from her stationary position. He held her shoulders, his fingertips digging into her skin and piercing her flesh. He shuddered, pulling out of her and ejaculating on her bare stomach, her ripped shirt open and her bra peaked over her bruising breasts. He stood. The devil himself stood in front of her soiled body, put on his glasses and strode from the room. She heard the key turn in the lock, and she heard him leave the door open, his footfalls retreating down the barren hallways and somewhere later; up a flight of stairs.

She lay there, curling into herself as she tried to stay awake. The puncture wound at the base of her back had been superficial, but the amount of time she'd been bleeding was starting to catch up with her. She tried to deny that she was there at that moment; that Jacob Ben-Israeal hadn't just raped her on the floor of the AV room. She didn't cry, rocking in place, wincing at the effort it took for her to do just that. She heard footsteps then, two pairs of them walking in her direction, wafting down the hallway like dangerous aromas. Something told her it wasn't Jacob coming back though, so she stayed where she was, unmoving as the feminine voices drifted into the open doorway.

"Well someone got blood on Jewfro, let's just make sure there aren't any sacrificed animals down here."

They walked in, looking immediately at the broken diva curled up on the floor.

"Brit, go tell Principle Figgins to call the police."

000 0000 000

She was walking to the audiovisual room to pick up the performance dvd from invitationals. She hated going down into the dungeons of the school, but since the following year they'd moved the room, Jacob Ben-Israel sighting that he'd need a darker place to develop film. School had let out a half hour before, most of the clubs not converging due to Thanksgiving break. She needed something to do for the short recess since she and Finn had been on the outs since the whole Santana Scandal broke. She darted into the room, noting that no one had arrived yet, and stood against the stacks of compact disc containers.

"Hello Rachel. Come to retrieve your invitational footage I see."

She felt uneasy.

"Yes, actually, I'd like to be on my way."

"You didn't think it would be that easy did you? How about a kiss?"

Since a tragic game of spin the bottle weeks before, the stalking gossip monger had been following her around more than usual. She'd backed out of kissing him, until Santana had pointed out that she had to kiss Tina on her turn. She kissed him, a small peck on the lips and excused herself to go wash her mouth with soap.

She walked toward the door, noting that he took a step backwards with each of her oncoming steps forward. He got there first, pulling out a key and locking them inside with an audible click. She didn't want to panic, but she also didn't want to kiss him either, so she walked back toward the stacks, her back hitting against it, Jacob quick on her coat tails, pushing her back against the metal shelves; a nail digging unexpectedly into her skin. She winced, walking forward as her shirt ripped around her middle and hanging onto the rugged nail, her cotton pink bra available for easy viewing. She turned back to Jacob, who was walking toward her with hungry eyes, his twitching fingers reaching out to grab at her open shirt. She dodged him, ducking under his arm to grab the door knob, banging against it when he pulled her backwards, popping her wrist in the process.

"It's just a kiss, Rachel, pucker up."

He was hitting her after that, small punches in sensitive places, and she fell.

"I'm tired of you always teasing me. You know you want it, Rachel!"

She reeled away from him, crawling on all fours toward the door, the sound of his zippers snapping her out of her thoughts. She knew what was about to happen next.

End of Chapter 1.

A/N: No flames please this will hopefully evolve into a Hurt/Comfort fic featuring Santana and Rachel. Look for an update every Tuesday night (unless I feel lucky). Please Read and Review.


	2. Gossip 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my twisted imagination.

Chapter Two:

"How could this have happened? I was told that this situation was under control! Sue— I was informed by the police today that you didn't take proper procedure reporting last month's events?"

"I don't know what you're talking abo—"

"Ah Sue don't give me that! I found this out today, Sue! Today!"

"Found out what?"

Schuester walked in, adding to the heated discussion as he sat, bewildered in front of the school principle.

"I was informed by the police about last month's incident involving Ben-Israel self copulating to Rachel Berry's blog footage. I am appalled that this incident was not documented and turned over to Emma."

"Yes, sir—I just received your message that you wanted to see me; Hello William, Sue."

The counselor stood daintily near the principles desk as she strode in, trying her best not to _touch_ anything.

"Emma. A student has been sexually assaulted and I have been informed that Ben-Israel's infatuation with the girl escalated to such horrible—"

"Can it Figgins. You can sit here and try to say that you could trace it through the paperwork, but going back and finding a paper trail will not erase what happened to this girl. Now, as educators we have to pull the school together and show them the consequences violence against other students can bring!"

"Sue, while I'm quite irritated with your false portrayal of empathy; I cannot disregard the implications of this incident and the influence it will have on Rachel Berry and her guardians. She was sexually assaulted by a young man on our watch! We cannot be ignorant to the outcome of this crime. The police will call into question every formal attack on Rachel Berry, her fathers may even mandate a lawsuit. I need to understand why a girl was raped on school grounds; and why this couldn't have been prevented!"

The fist that was slammed on the death hushed the room, booming in the teachers ears as they all looked to one another. Sue Sylvester had been called into the office during her second round of practices that day by bullhorn. She was generally concerned when the police asked to question her, after being told that two of her own cheerleaders had found the girl, and probably had to give statements on what had happened. She sat there now, staring at Figgins, who was ultimately trying to find a scapegoat since he couldn't willingly blame himself for the attack.

William Schuester sat beside her, his brow mimicking his hairline as he sat there open mouthed. He was summoned while grading papers in his classroom. He'd stayed late enough to give him time outside of his confining apartment—so when the police had announced that all school personnel remaining in the building head to the auditorium, he was dreading the aftermath. When the police questioned him, he could only give forth the tiny bit of information he knew about the slight crush Ben-Israel had on Rachel, and input the heavy amount of bullying she suffered over the time he'd known her.

"Principle Figgins, Rachel has to report the harassment, or agree to take action over it for it to be a formal problem. A lot of kids get bully her, the bigger issue is that until they report it themselves, nothing can be done about it. Same goes for the crush that Ben-Israel has on her—"

Sue interrupted him then—putting her hand up to silence him instantly.

"Crush! William I am appauled at your lax attitude toward this situation.—"

Emma interrupted then—quieting the room with the quiet buzz of her voice.

"While I understand that everyone is angry for what has happened, all we can do right now is hope that Rachel can get through this. The finger pointing is unnecessary and I think we should just try our best to educate and inform our student body that she will be okay. And Will, while the bullying will come up, I think we can still acknowledge that Rachel didn't deserve any of what has happened today. If you all will come with me to my office, I have a few pamphlets we can all look at.

000 0000 000

He was sitting in a room. It was one room with one door, two chairs and a table. There is a window of glass in the wall behind him, as well as corner cameras around him. His hands are cuffed behind him through the opening of the folding chair, chafing his wrists as his bare arms dripped of perspiration. He whistles to calm his nerves; the eerie tune doing nothing to distract his anxious nerves. The door opens the sound from the bullpen outside crawling into the room with a strong perfume. He inhales, the lilac bouncing off his senses, giving him reprieve from the guilty stench hovering over his head. The female cop sits, pushing the water to him, sadistically watching him lean forward and grip it with his teeth, nervously gulping down the cool liquid, before shaking the cup from his clench. She stared at him.

"Your parents have agreed to let you speak with us, they've decided you don't need a lawyer."

He rolled his eyes. That figured, his parents would pretend to be moral outstanding Jews at this point of his life—choosing to pretend as if they actually paid him any attention.

"Whatever."

"Well, I'm Detective Gray, I've talked to a lot of people today, and right now, this is an open and shut case, Jacob. You raped Rachel Berry and all we need now is your account. You left your semen on her body, you scratched, bit, and pummeled her, and you left her to bleed out. All we need is your account, and we can close this file."

"Who says it wasn't consensual? She's been flirting with me, sending me signals, I just acted on it."

He wasn't wearing his glasses. They'd taken them when the police frisked him and collected his belongings for intake. He hoped the level of disgust he had with the female officer registered well on his face.

"It was worth it. And I'd do it again just for the chance to relive being inside of Rachel Berry."

She looked at him, her face twisted in an obscene display of complete revulsion and slight discomfort. She was looking at him like he was a monster, sitting in front of her baring his crimes in boast. She looked like she wanted to spit in his face. He didn't care. He'd admit it a thousand times over. He did it, and he would serve all of time he needed to; because what it felt like was worth every minute he'd serve in prison. He simply didn't care.

"I do believe that's all we need, Jacob."

She opened the door and the officers waiting outside charged in, lifting him at the elbow to officially take him into custody.

000 0000 000

She hadn't said anything during the ride to the hospital. The paramedics promised her they would take care of her, and that her father would be there hopefully when she got there. They worked on the wound on her back, gave her an iv, and cut around her clothes to prep her for check-in. They took her to a room when she got there. It was a room with a door instead of a curtain, and she could hear the rush of the hospital behind her as she was rolled in; she could feel the suffocating silence of the room as they set her down and shut that door. She waited, not knowing how to feel until the nurses came, telling her that her father was here, and he would see her after the rape kit; that she numbly gave consent for after they explained to her what it would be for.

She sat still when Dr. Greenburg sat on her stool at the foot of the bed, too shocked to concentrate on the burning of her nerve endings. She was replaying the entire day in her head, trying not to jerk away from the Doctor's exploring hands; not completely lucid enough to cry through the stitches, through the collecting, the scraping, or the photographs. She was still in her own world in her head, trying to block out images marring her memory. She felt sick to her stomach, wrapping her arms around herself for support, shuddering when she realized that the support was shallow. A cop came in, asking her questions that she couldn't really remember answering. But she nodded and rubbed her arm in comfort; but she felt the pity oozing through the fabric of her shirt.

When everyone left, and her father sat in the bedside recliner, his head resting at Rachel's side, she cried. She felt the bile at the base of her stomach bubbling, heaving into her hands as she realized what happened, sobs bouncing her father out of his sleep and by her side instantly. Through the quiet 'Baby it's okay' and his constant soothing rubs along her scalp, she fell asleep, waking up later when the clock on the wall read close to nine, the lonely room dark and empty, her father probably somewhere talking to her Daddy, who would probably be making the trip from Chicago the next morning. Her door opened, the screen blocking the door from view shielding her visitor.

"They said you were going to be okay; right?"

She didn't expect Santana Lopez to be the first visitor she had, but then again, she hadn't really expected visitors at all.

000 0000 000

A/N: Santana's concern is well rooted, maybe these girls have something very big in common that will be revealed next chapter. Expect longer chapters after this. And look at that: early update! Read and Review!


	3. Chapter 3

Hey everyone. This is not an "I abandoned this story" update. Quite the contrary. This is however a question for those looking for an update. I have been editing this story and the chapters I was going to post soon; and I'm dissatisfied. And it feels like an injustice knowing that I can write something better. So I ask, if I restarted the story, and wrote it the way I've been wanting to write it, will those of you who favorited, followed and read this story reread it? I'd like to know all of your thoughts on this, so please send some feedback? In reviews, pms, emails; anything. Until I know the answer—I will not continue. It will have the same premise… just by different circumstance.

Hoping to hear from you all,


	4. NEW Chapter 1

Title: Gossip (The Rewrite)

Author: J Rease

Rating: M/NC-18

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Warnings: Descriptions of violence, sexual assault. The after math. The investigation. A look into a very demented Jacob Ben-Israel's mind. Very dark themes.

Summary: Jacob Ben-Israel wasn't always like this. All he ever was a chance with Rachel Berry. No one knew his infatuation would spiral out of control. Pezberry Hurt/Comfort.

A/N: Hey everyone. I was overwhelmed (in a good way) by the feedback I got for the rewrite that I decided to go ahead and put it up. It's going to be drastically different in layout. It will probably be a bit darker because it begins in Jacob Ben-Israel's POV. This may get intense… and I hope the tone I set in this rewrite conveys how much I needed to fix this story.

I have decided to leave up the first two chapters and just update this fic so most of you don't have to re-favorite or re-find this story. It's also awesome that so many of you supported my creative need to evolve. Thank you—I feel like I will be able to write something better, and I hope you all enjoy it.

All mistakes are mine. Please review.

Chapter 1

He's fifteen. He's fifteen and peculiar and lonely. He's fifteen and he has a tiny mouth and misshapen teeth. He's fifteen and he has beady eyes and a large forehead. He's only fifteen and he already knows that he is hideous. His hair frizzes at the ends of his curls, and he can never get it to stay straight. His mother says they shouldn't have let him skip grades. His father said that he just has to finish puberty. He knows better. He'll be that ugly Jewish guy forever. He was the walking personification of Neil Goldman from Family Guy; that pervy guy super stalking the girl who will ultimately ignore him for a lifetime. He accepted his lot in life. He pretended sometimes that she'd come to her senses, and want to be his girlfriend.

_It started as crush._ She was always at the JCC, two years older than him and always so pretty in her skirts. She volunteered often and sometimes shared cookies with the kids hanging around the community center. He never had the nerve to talk to her. In retrospect he had no reason to. She was out of his league… he was off her radar. When he'd tested out of eighth grade, he could remember being excited to be able to go to high school with her, happy that he could watch her from a distance more often.

He found people interested in the same things he was in high school. People who liked taking things apart; technologically advanced people who shared the same passion for gadgets that he did. They were more his loyal followers than his friends. They were people to cling to when upperclassmen went on freshman rampages, they were other geeks to sit with at lunch. They were people to cover up the fact that he was socially inept. They were smart kids like him who found ways to keep the balance in the pits. Basement dwellers who set the caste system from the bottom up—constructing foundation for them to reap the benefits of barter and trade. He yielded the power of gossip, his word was law, and his rumors proved fact 99 percent of the time. He loved maintaining his website…which over the years became a shrine for his blossoming obsession with one very particular brunette. If he was writing this story, they would end up together and partake in the throes of heated lovemaking. But whoever was writing his story is cruel.

She hadn't always hated his advances. When they began, he would hide in the crawl spaces and oddly angled corners of the hallways, watching her smile as she read the anonymous letters he used to slip into the slots of her locker door. He would fold origami flowers and push them into the holes, and peek from places while she imagined someone sweet trying to catch her attention. She convinced herself that it was someone like Finn Hudson. She believed that it was someone who would fulfill her every standard. She thought it was someone tall and popular and handsome. He didn't think she needed someone to save. When he came forward, admitting to her it was him that felt that way… she was repulsed. She threw away his letters and screamed at him for playing such a mean joke on her. She looked at him like he was something nasty she had stepped in. She regarded him as beneath her.

That day broke him. The day condemned him. He couldn't get her out of his head. The girl he wasn't good enough for, the girl he would never get to be with. And puberty hit. She was the first girl he ever touched himself thinking about. She was the only girl. She made a point to avoid him after that. She didn't speak to him and she would leave any room he'd gone into purposely. He started following her then. He knew where she was all the time, she knew who she was with and the conversations she often had with other people. He started finding out what hallways she took to which classes, he made a way to be wherever she was at any given moment. And every time he saw her with someone else. With Puck, with Finn, with Jesse… he'd want her just a little bit more. He longed for her a little bit harder. =

He got crass when all he wanted to do was compliment her. He'd shout out the things that were supposed to be personal and he'd ruin his chances every time. He lost control around her. She was like kryptonite. He was on edge every time she sauntered by him. He wanted to touch her. He needed her to be his. He was fifteen… and he only loved one girl in his life.

The more Rachel Berry ignored him, the harder it became to think of anything other than her. What used to be infatuation… turned into consumption. He knew when her house was empty, and when her fathers' left and returned home. He could peek through her window when he hid behind the Steinway's oak tree. He knew everything about her… and he would do anything legal or otherwise just to have her. Even just once.

When he found her unconscious on the floor in the auditorium, between the thick curtains on the side of the stage, he felt like he hit the lottery. He can't guess how she landed the knot on her head, but he knew she would be there practicing. He knew because he often made trips there to set up audiovisual equipment every time she decided to go. He was fifteen. He was fifteen and he wasn't given that many chances at Rachel Berry. He was fifteen… and he was going to seize the day.

000 0000 000

He rolled her onto one of the mats left side stage for stunts. He dragged it all the way to one of the dressing rooms he conveniently had a key to in the back. He locked the door behind him, and paced the small room thinking of his next step. He checked her breathing, and shook her by her chin to make sure she was still knocked out. The knot on her forehead didn't look too serious, but he wouldn't know how much time he had to make his move. He stared at her, rubbing his hands nervously through his hair. He didn't know what to do now. He knew what he wanted to do… but he didn't know if he could muster up the balls to do it.

He sat on his knees beside her, his breath hitching in his throat, his mouth dry; shallow gasps of air interrupting the quiet of her even breathing. He leaned down, pressing his lips into her open mouth… and cupped her breast with his shaking hand. She didn't move. He kept going. He let his hands trace her body slowly, marveling in probably the only time he'd ever get to have her this way. He could pretend that she was writhing beneath him. He could keep going and memorize every moment he would never have again. He let his hand fall on her thigh. He was tight in his pants already, the exhilaration of touching her exciting him more than anything else. He didn't know how much time he had. He had to take the chance. He had to regret nothing.

He plunged his hand into her underwear, and he felt through impossibly soft skin and dampness. He ran his fingertips over the short curly hair beneath her pastel panties and he ran his finger along her slit. She still didn't move. Her mind may have been sleeping, body her body was reacting. He unzipped his pants, pulling his hand out of her panties to lie between her legs. He wiggled in between them quickly, leaning back to tug the panties down her motionless lower half. He tucked them into his shirt pocket, and saw for the first time the place he'd wanted to get into since he was twelve years old.

He opened her legs as wide as they could go, and ran his fingers along the pink flesh. He found her clit, rubbing his fingertip over the hardening nub until his curiosity got the best of him and he got close to inhale the scent. He was taking his time with a moment that could probably be broken any minute. He sat back again, spitting into his hand before rubbing it on the head of his penis and touching it to her warm skin. Her hips bucked.

For a moment he waited. He waited for the struggle and the fight. He waited to hear her screaming and pleading but it remained quiet. He breathed a sigh of relief. She just had a natural response to sexual stimulus. He pushed open her limp legs, and he pretended as he pushed into her dry body that she was digging her ankles into the small of his back. He felt something give, and he relaxed, waiting for the tightness to relent.

He looked down at her…etching the feeling of being inside her into his memory. He pulled out and shoved back in…closing his eyes at the overwhelming pleasure exploding at their union. He should have realized that she was staring back at him.

000 0000 000

The first thing she could register was the weight. There was something heavy on top of her and she first suspected that whatever fell off the cabinet she'd bumped into was heavy. The second thing she registered was her disoriented position. She couldn't tell if she was on the floor or pushed up against something. The last thing she felt before immediately opening her eyes was the sharp pain digging into the apex of her spread thighs.

It didn't register what was happening until he moved. Her insides chafed against whatever was inside her, and she felt like the friction was setting something there on fire. Her legs were spread so far apart they hurt, and she could feel the drip drop of something thick sliding down her thigh.

It didn't register until then that she should try to get away. She tried to move, but the throbbing in her head made her as dizzy as the burn inside her made her lose her breath. This couldn't be happening. But it was starting to feel worse, he was staring to speed up, and she realized that she couldn't stop him… or the pain. The groans that cut through the air didn't stop him from thrusting into her. She could feel his hips touching hers… she felt the thickness of him being inside of her—inside a place nothing else had ever gone. She wanted her groans to be screams. She needed her motionless body to move… to fight. He noticed she was up now, and he rested his forearm across her chest, and she felt the pounding swell her flesh, she felt him shove himself inside her one last time— and she let the pain consume her.


End file.
